


Festival of Prompts- Tumblr Drabbles PART II

by TeyrianTimelord



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Psych, Sherlock (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, Avengers go to hogwarts, F/M, Fluff, Hogwarts AU, M/M, Romance, Things get messy, Titus Andronicus - Freeform, mi-6 squad goals, moneypenny's point of view, sherlock/psych crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-28 13:30:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5092553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeyrianTimelord/pseuds/TeyrianTimelord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which I AM CONTINUING to take prompts through my askbox on Tumblr and these are the results.<br/>"Sifki Prompt - Being stuck in prison together"<br/>""Don't you dare throw that snowba- god damnit!", Clintasha?"<br/>"Sherlock becomes slightly insecure after witnessing Molly be shy and flirty with a visiting investigator." The visiting investigator is Shawn Spencer.<br/>"The most angst ridden situation you can think of. Death, something worse than death" Titus Andronicus inspired (00Q)<br/>"avengers at hogwarts. Tony being confused and pissed at no wifi(though Steve loves that), Banner kicking butt at potions, Scarlet Witch just being like its my time bitches,"<br/>"a fic of M, Tanner, Moneypenny and Q dealing with the clusterfuck they are left with post-spectre, and because it is really only them left they can trust they end up BFFs. Eventually because Bond is Bond he ends up back at MI6 to find that the four of them are all really close and varying shades of Pissed Off at him."<br/>"Bucky sexting nat while she's in a briefing?"SFW in which Bucky tries sexting for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Between Bars

**Author's Note:**

> "Couple - Sifki Prompt - Being stuck in prison together. (Before the movies)" -azaelle

“This is all your fault,” Sif growled, continuing to pace back and forth behind the bars of her parallel cell.

Loki rolled his eyes from where he was reclining on his own cell’s cot. She had been at it for an hour and he was convinced if she didn’t sit down she would wear a tread in the stone floor.

“Firstly, it is only my fault in the basest semantic sense. Secondly, set yourself at ease. Alfheim is an ally of Asgard; they won’t let its prince sit in prison for long. Odin will send an ambassador to orchestrate our release shortly.”

He knew his argument was sound, but it seemed she could not have cared less.

“I should have known better than to follow you into this folly. I should have known your intentions were far from diplomatic,” she continued. “This is precisely why no one trusts you.”

Loki could only smirk. He had gotten them in and out of situations far worse than this and they both knew it. Still, she was so damned honor-driven that even the slightest mishap to mar her perfect image of loyalty sent her into a spiraling fit of frustration. Alright, so maybe he just might have stolen that artifact in plain sight because he was in the mood to see Sif squirm.

“What are you smiling at?” she snapped, finally stopping her torrential pacing to lean against the bars, her hands dangling over into his side.

“Simply at how lovely you are when you get angry.”

She scowled and he became aware of how fortunate he was that they had been placed in separate cells.

“Tell me, _my lord,_ how much prison time would I serve in Asgard for breaking your royal jaw?”

Still, he continued to grin smugly.

“I do cherish these times we have quality moments to ourselves, Lady Sif. I feel like I really get to know you whenever we get into these situations.”

She swiftly drove her palm against one of the metal bars, silencing him with the piercing ring of flesh on steel.

“You mean these situations _you_ get us into! Every time something like this happens, it is nothing but a game to you. As royalty you are untouchable, but I could lose my position over this. I could be stuck here, I could be banished!”

Loki sighed and finally rose from the stone bed. It was so amusing when she fell into a frazzled mess, but he still considered her a friend. He would only let her suffer so much. Making sure to watch that her hands didn’t clench into fists, he slowly approached and put his own hands on her shoulders.

“I will not let anything happen to you when we return to Asgard, I swear it. If anyone wants to punish you for my misgivings, then they must first survive my wrath.”

Despite the fury still painted across her face, he noticed just the slightest softening in her eyes. Before he even really thought through it, Loki let slip,

“You know so long as I live I will never let anything happen to you.”

It came out quieter than he had expected; more intimate. All traces of hostility suddenly dropped from Sif’s countenance and gave way to shock. Loki could be an insufferable flirt when he wanted to be, usually to embarrass her in public, but this time he actually spoke with substance and feeling, without even giving it any real though, either. They stood in silence for a few moments, both too taken by surprise to offer an immediate follow-up. Finally, Sif answered,

“It is my duty to fight and die for the kings of Asgard. It is your destiny to rule our realm and mine to defend it. You can’t protect me forever.”

He gently grasped her hand that was still hanging over to his side of the bars and lightly touched it to his lips without taking his eyes from hers.

“But it is my wish to do so, and what can you do to stop me?”

“You’re such a petulant child,” she groaned, but a smile still grew across her lips.

They spent the rest of the afternoon on the floors of their cells, backs against the bars so they could talk of meaningless things and feel some familiar warmth. As Loki had promised, it took hardly more than a day for Thor and an ambassador to arrive and arrange their release. Though Thor encouraged them to laugh and joke the whole way home and Sif seemed satisfied to forget the incident all together, Loki did not surrender the way his promise tasted as it rolled of his tongue or the feel of Sif’s skin on his lips. There was something blossoming inside him. Something he wasn’t sure if he was alright with, or if anyone else would be either.


	2. Snow Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don't you dare throw that snowba- god damnit!", Clintasha? Bonus points for the rest of the Avengers+Bucky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is actually also featured in part 1, but there was not enough room for the description, so I figured I'd add it here too.

It was Tony and Steve’s idea to switch off who in the team was in charge of weekly training during the winter months. They all had specific skills that were great to have individually, but the best way to truly be unified was to share as many talents as possible. At first the idea made Natasha uncomfortable. Even if the Avengers was the closest thing she had to family, trusting them with her tactical secrets was a serious push. However, while it spooked her in theory, it proved to be quite fruitful in application. Tony taught basic mechanics on military vehicles, Steve taught French (though some phrases were antiquated by half a century), Bruce gave weaponized chemistry lessons, Clint honed everyone’s marksmanship, Thor shared Asgardian battle formations, Bucky taught basic Russian with her help, and Sam had everyone in training for their pilot’s licenses. Now it was Natasha’s turn, and that morning they all received text messages that training would begin at five a.m. in meadow of Central Park. She relished in hearing their groans as they dragged themselves miserably out of bed around four while she sat at the kitchen counter already fully dressed and sipping a hot Irish coffee.

“Romanoff, you do realize it’s still dark and snowing outside, right?” Tony grumbled, bundled up in what was probably the most expensive parka she had ever seen. “Dark. Snowing.”

“I feel like I’m back in Russia,” Bucky complained to Steve as he started piling hot pockets into the microwave.

“Good,” Natasha chimed, more than a little proud of herself. “Russia’s best military defense doesn’t come from their military at all; it’s the winters that kill armies. You boys need to learn how to fight in the snow.”

“Then can’t we just hand Siberia over to Loki or Hydra?” Clint asked with a groan before throwing himself down on the couch next to the dozing Sam and Bruce.

“The Black Widow is right,” Thor supported, coming out of his room wrapped in furs. “Sif and I hold similar trainings to prepare our warriors in case the need arises for a war with Jotunheim.”

Still continuing to bitch and moan, they finally made it to the quinjet (at Tony’s insistence over his refusal to be seen in a minivan) and over to Central Park. The sun was just barely beginning to shed some grey light across the park, but the snow was already half way up their calves and showed no sign of stopping its flurry any time soon. They trudged about one hundred yards away from the jet before Natasha stopped and signaled for them to circle up.

“Thor, Bucky, I want you two helping the others,” she instructed. “The most important part of fighting in deep snow is to not let yourself be distracted. It’s easy to get tripped up by the feeling of your feet being inhibited, but you can’t let it pull your attention away from your attackers. Now, try-“

She stopped short. Out of the corner of her eye she just barely saw Clint bending over as if to fix his boot, but she knew better. His hands were too far down to be adjusting the laces.

“Barton, so help me God, don’t you dare throw a-“

Before she could even finish the statement, a packed ball of snow and ice collided with the side of her head, exploding on impact and soaking her hair as the flakes melted on skin. She turned on her heels and without waiting scooped up two heaping handfuls of snow, squeezed them together, and hit him square in the chest.

“Let the glorious battle begin!” Thor shouted with a booming laugh, and suddenly all frozen hell broke loose as everyone dove in different directions to grab their own ammunition.

“Dibs on Cap’s team!” Sam declared, joining up with Steve and Bucky to form a triangle of flying freezing death. Natasha couldn’t help but notice Bucky’s mechanical arm was helping him make snowballs at least twice the rate of a normal human’s ability.

“Bruce, watch my back, buddy,” Tony called as he started gathering snow by the pile to build into a wall they could use for cover.

Thor seemed content to stand his own ground, and while Bucky was by far the fastest at making snowballs, the Asgardian was putting together globes the size of his head, catapulting them like rocks out of a trebuchet to take out Tony’s wall almost as fast as the billionaire could build it back up. Natasha groaned. This was supposed to be a valuable training exercise, and everything had descended into chaos because she was too immature to resist retaliating against Clint and his childish antics. Almost on cue, Hawkeye ran to her side, arms full of assembled white weapons.

“Looks like we’re together on this one,” he panted between breaths. “See, now this is just like Budapest all over again.”

“I agree. The mission was going perfectly until you did something to fuck it up,” she growled, shivering as streams of frigid water streamed down the back of her neck and under the collar of her shirt.

“Come on, lighten up, Widow,” he said, nudging her with his shoulder. “This is the most fun any of us have had in weeks. Now you can either sit here and keep glaring, or you can take that stick out of your ass and help me cream Cap into the ground.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, still a little annoyed, but she couldn’t help her own childish warmth starting to rise in her chest. The Red Room had done a lot to mess with her memories of how she had really spent her childhood, and though she did not know if it was real or not, she did remember running through the streets of Moscow with other children, throwing snow at each other to distract themselves from adult problems they were too young to fully understand. It had been… fun. Nice. She looked over at Bucky, the only other person on the team who understood what they had done to her, but he was too busy having a good time to even notice. Her usually strong and silent ex who had endured more than any of them was laughing, smiling, and living like a normal person for what was probably the first time in decades. If he could give in, so could she.

“Alright, let’s take those idiots out!”

***

By noon the Avengers were back in the kitchen of Stark Tower, all wrapped up in blankets and robes, drinking hot cocoa like they were ten years old again. It was Cap’s idea to take the rest of the day off as a “snow day” and finish out the afternoon with a couple hot pizzas and some good movies. Everyone agreed and began meandering into Tony’s home theater room, but Natasha hung back with Clint since he had agreed to wash the cocoa dishes while everyone else set up for the movie marathon.

“Why don’t you go help Sam with the pillow fort, Nat? I can take care of these myself,” he offered, gathering up the mugs and putting them in the sink filled with soapy water.

“I know you can,” she answered. “I just… I just wanted to say thank you. This is really what the team needed and I wouldn’t have seen it if you hadn’t pelted me with that snowball.”

Clint immediately abandoned the mugs and used the blanket wrapped around his shoulders to throw around hers and pull her into a warm embrace, planting a soft kiss on her forehead.

“I pelted you with that snowball because it’s what you really needed, Tasha. I know you care about this team, but it’s got you wound up tighter than I’ve ever seen you. Someone’s got to make sure you take care of yourself.”

“Thanks, Clint,” Natasha whispered, letting her head rest on his shoulder. “Do you think everyone else would notice if we skipped the movie?”


	3. A Proper Detective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Pre-Sherlolly prompt: Sherlock becomes slightly insecure after witnessing Molly be shy and flirty with a visiting investigator." WITH A PSYCH TWIST AWW YEAH

It took Sherlock exactly 4.78 seconds to deduce that this so called “psychic detective” was nothing but a fraud with slightly above average observation skills. The American was a mediocre actor amateur level deduction and nothing more. Why Scotland Yard would call him in all the way from California to work on a case Sherlock already had nearly solved was baffling to say the least, and more than a little vexing. Two more days at the most and Sherlock would have it cracked, and yet he had to share this wonderfully gruesome triple murder with some colonist imposter and his bald sidekick who would not stop making eyes at Donovan. ‘Play nice,’ Lestrade had ordered. Sherlock tried to expose the man on the spot, but was laughed off as simply ‘being unhappy to share the limelight.’ The three of them were scheduled to visit the morgue at St. Bart’s to get a better look at the bodies, and though Sherlock was right on time, the American duo were nowhere to be seen.

“So I hear we have some new faces coming in today,” Molly prodded as she started arranging the mutilated corpses for examination.

“An American sham and his witless assistant,” Sherlock huffed, and she threw him an entertained smile.

“Oh, come off it, Sherlock. You don’t consider a psychic detective even slightly interesting?”

He rolled his eyes.

“All psychics are nothing more than body language readers and liars who know how to do their homework. They’re an insult to consulting detectives.”

“I thought you were the only consulting detective.”

“Exactly.”

As soon as the quip left his mouth, the doors to the morgue burst open with a dramatic flourish and the visiting detective strutted in like he owned the place. Sherlock watched as Molly’s eyes widened and her jaw went slack. He could tell that the exact words going through her mind were ‘no one told me he would be handsome,’ and he rolled his eyes again. Typical.

“Well cheerio there, lassette,” the man chirped at Molly in the most atrocious cockney accent Sherlock had ever heard, but of course it only made her smile and blush. “I’m Shawn Spencer, and this is my partner, Burtondict Cucumberbutt. Those blokes at Scotland Yard didn’t warn us about such a cracking mortician.”

His partner punched his arm.

“Shawn, stop embarrassing yourself,” he muttered before turning to Molly. “Ma’am, I apologize for his insensitivity to your culture. I myself an am an avid anglophile. I’ve read all seven Harry Potter books and seen every episode of Doctor Who since William Hartnell.”

Molly looked amused, obviously caught up in the charm of their antics. Sherlock wondered how much sucking up it would take to get Mycroft to deport them. When she finally stopped giggling like a child, Molly extended her hand to shake theirs.

“I’m Dr. Molly Hooper. I’ll be showing you the victims today.”

“Finally,” Sherlock grumbled, practically elbowed his way through them to be first to the mangled cadavers.

“I sense that the non-believer is still bitter about my presence?” he heard Mr. Spencer whisper to Molly from behind him, relievingly back in his normal voice.

“Don’t take it personally. Sherlock doesn’t like anyone,” she responded.

Sherlock sighed in frustration. He wasn’t bitter, just intolerant to charlatans who passed amateur sleuthing as some sort of cosmic trickery. He felt even surer of his convictions when the man pulled an incredibly theatrical and gaudy display of the ‘spirits of the deceased’ possessing his body, which included no less than obscene flailing and clumsily throwing himself around the whole room. There was no doubt in Sherlock’s mind that all of the senselessness Mr. Spencer was shouting was nothing more than a string of deductions he had made from files stolen from Donovan and the obvious hatchet wounds on the body. It was distasteful, even if he was on the right track. The whole scene made Sherlock want to vomit in disgust, but Molly looked thoroughly entertained by the showmanship, which made it even worse. Yes, he knew she was innocent and gullible, but this was ridiculous. At long last, he finally wrapped up his performance and fixed his out of place shirt.

“Dr. Hooper, we have a few hours before we have to report back to our new friend, Lessy. How about you show us to your favorite pub and I do a private reading for you?” Mr. Spencer asked with an incorrigible grin.

Molly’s cheeks turned the color of a maraschino cherry.

“I’d like that very much, Mr. Spencer. I haven’t taken my lunch break yet.”

Just as Shawn was about to reach for her hand, Sherlock immediately stepped in and grabbed her arm (admittedly more possessively than he had intended).

“No, Molly, I need you to help me with the case today. I’ll have John bring us some crisps and we can have lunch here.”

“Sherlock!” she scolded, backing away. “I have spent all of my lunch hours for the last week and a half stuck in this morgue helping you, and I will gladly do so for the next week and a half as well, but today I want to have a proper meal at a proper pub with a proper detective!”

Sherlock was taken aback, and slowly relinquished his grip on her arm. He knew Molly wasn’t the same mousey pathologist she was before his ‘death.’ He knew she was a stronger woman then he ever would have guessed the moment she first slapped him after his stint undercover. He knew she would never fall prey to his cruel manipulations again, which he was glad for after gaining so much respect for her. But apparently he did not know as much about her behavior as he thought. She turned back to Mr. Spencer.

“Shawn, do you enjoy gin? The Viaduct Tavern is just down the street.”

***

“You’re here early,” Molly commented indifferently as she walked into the morgue, makeup only half done and still holding a nearly full tea tumbler.

Sherlock shifted his shoulders and swallowed his pride.

“That’s because I owe you an apology,” he managed to spit out.

The word _apology_ tasted disgusting and he had no regrets whatsoever about his words yesterday, but he was still remorseful for making her lose her patience. Even if the ‘proper detective’ comment still stung coming from his pathologist.

Molly put her tea down on her desk and sighed, and Sherlock knew he owed her. Usually she was incredibly modest when he issued any sort of ‘sorry’ statement, but right now she looked as if she had been actively expecting one.

“My behavior yesterday was inappropriate. It was not my place to try to keep you from having lunch with Mr. Spencer, even if he is a fraud. I am… sorry, Molly,” he said as sincerely as he could muster, which he realized still came across as cold.

“You’re right, it wasn’t,” Molly answered. “But I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have insinuated that you aren’t a proper detective. That was mean.”

Sherlock cleared his throat to buy him a few seconds of time while he ran through the mundane conversation prompts he had outlined in his head.

“Did you three have fun?”

Molly grinned.

“Lots. But we aren’t getting together if that’s what you mean. He has a lovely girl back in America and Gus is… well, Gus.”


	4. Shame and Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "the most angst ridden situation you can think of. Death, something worse than death, whichever characters you want. Just include the line, "Fuck, I could've prevented that. Don't you see? This is MY FAULT." I took the Titus Andronicus route...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was incredibly painful to write. Be warned, this is not a pleasant read.

_“I should have guessed that you were a Shakespeare snob,” Bond scoffed from where he was leaning against the shelves behind Q’s desk, arms crossed tightly._

_“Don’t be obtuse, 007. The Globe has an impeccable acting troupe and Moneypenny and I have been planning for weeks to see their new rendition of Titus Andronicus. Have you ever read it?”_

_James twisted his lips in derision._

_“Romeo and Juliet was the last play a professor ever got me to touch.”_

_An amused and self-assured grin stretched across Q’s face._

_“You should give it a chance, Bond. Titus is Shakespeare’s most notoriously brutal and infamously horrific work. It contains more character deaths than any of his other plays all in quite revolting manners. Bassianus is stabbed and left to rot in a pit, Demetrius and Chiron are baked into pies and fed to their mother, and Lavinia is raped, has her hands cut off, her tongue cut out, and is eventually killed by her own father out of shame and mercy. It’s obscene, I know, but the reviews of the production are phenomenal. You should come see it with us, I’m sure there are still seats left.”_

_Bond shook his head. The young man looked way too enthused for his own good._

_“Well you’ve already given me the ending, so there’s no need for me to suffer through three hours of it now.”_

_Q rolled his eyes._

_“Suit yourself, then. I’m due to meet Eve in an hour, so I’ll have to ask you to show yourself out while I get some work done.”_

_Bond chuckled. Sometimes he forgot how young Q really was._

_***_

_James was half way through his second glass of scotch when his phone started ringing. He glanced down at the caller ID and then to his watch. The show must have been going for a good 40 minutes now, what on earth could Moneypenny need of him?_

_“Are you and Q enjoying your evening of culture?” he immediately asked upon picking up the phone, not bothering with a greeting._

_“Would that we were. He never showed up and hasn’t answered any of my calls. I asked Tanner to check his office but he said it was empty. So he’s not with you then?”_

_She sounded fearful. Moneypenny never sounded fearful._

_“I haven’t seen him since this afternoon. MI-6 can track him, can’t we? He’s a bloody Quartermaster for Christ’s sake.”_

_Eve sighed and he could practically see her shaking her head and clenching her fists._

_“There’s an emergency tracker in his specs but he has to activate it. James, something’s wrong. He’s been looking forward to this for two months, there’s no way he would miss it unless something terrible happened.”_

_Bond rubbed his eyes to chase away the sleepiness that had settled in them. She was right, of course she was right._

_“You call the hospitals, I’ll go check his flat,” he ordered, and hung up without a good-bye._

***

_Bugged. His office must have been bugged. They knew he was supposed to be at the theater for that bloody play. That. Bloody. Play._

***

Being a 00 meant seeing a lot of brutal, horrific, disgusting things that would drive lesser men insane. He had faced criminals who industrialized murder, profited from the sale of humans, and enjoyed torture as a pastime. He once assassinated a warlord in Africa whose favorite form of execution was a twice daily spritzing of sulfuric acid from a Windex bottle over the course of a month. There was a trafficker in Bosnia who refused to deal in anyone over the age of 14. Once in Mexico he met the wife of a Mara Salvatrucha boss who loved nothing more than to have the daughters of their enemies kidnapped and tattooed beyond recognition. James would have given anything in the world to be put at the hands of any of those monsters if it meant he could have found Q in any other state.

He had expected at best to find Q passed out in his bed, at worst still missing. In his wildest nightmares he could not have expected to walk into the young man’s kitchen and find the young man curled into the tightest ball Bond had ever seen a person make, head tucked, clothes shredded, and drenched in blood that was pooling on the wood floor all around him.

“Q?” he had probed hesitantly, immediately dropping to his side to survey the damage. “Q, it’s me, it’s James. I’m here now.”

But he had stayed curled in his ball, shaking violently, refusing to even peek out from his self-constructed defense. It was only when James gently pulled Q’s head up to meet his gaze that he realized the true extent of what had been done. Blood, tears, agony, and fear covered his Quartermaster’s face, but he had still refused to look at Bond, only staring down, and then James saw.

His hands. His hands were completely gone. There was nothing but grisly, unclean, oozing stumps where his hands had once been. When Bond finally recovered from the shock and looked back up, Q has parted his lips and out had streamed a seemingly endless gush of dark crimson blood and the most spine-chilling gurgling noise James had ever heard. Then he let out something that sounded like a sob, and collapsed into the agent’s arms, blood seeping through his clothes and onto his skin in mere moments.

So there they sat together, his own hands trembling and his own eyes filling with tears. _“And Lavinia is raped, has her hands cut off, her tongue cut out, and is eventually killed by her own father out of shame and mercy.”_ Q’s words kept thrashing around his head like a hurricane made of echoes. This shouldn’t have happened. If he hadn’t been such a self-absorbed prick and actually agreed to spend time with Q this never would have happened. The young man would still be able to use the computers he loved so much and mastered so well. He’d still be able to bounce banter off the Double 0’s who adored him and the minions who bent over backwards for him. Maybe he’d still feel safe.

“Fuck, I could have prevented this… this is my fault…” he murmured into Q’s hair, but he doubted the Quartermaster actually heard him. He was clinging to Bond as best he could without hands.

The hands James never had the chance to hold. The tongue he never had the chance to feel. The man he would never get the chance to truly know again. The man who would never know the life he loved again…

_“Out of shame and mercy.”_

Bond looked down hoping to stare into Q’s eyes again, but his face was too deeply buried in his shirt, sobbing and still spitting blood. Maybe it was better that way. He gingerly wrapped one arm softly around Q’s neck.

Then he squeezed until the sobbing stopped.

Then he screamed until his whole heart died.


	5. Welcome to Hogwarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if you're still taking prompts, buuuuuuuut if you are, avengers at hogwarts. Tony being confused and pissed at no wifi(though Steve loves that) and trying to prove magic is just science, Banner kicking butt at potions, Scarlet Witch just being like its my time bitches, cap loving the back to basics learning style, etc. Pretty please with Turkish delights on top???

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went with a very Wanda-centric view of this fic, but I hope it still lives up to expectations!

Wanda wrung her hands so tightly that her fingers were starting to turn red, not just from the hot pulses of her power, but from rubbing themselves raw. She was so overwhelmed with fear and excitement that it was all she could do to keep her energies at a faint glow, though they were demanding to be let loose in glorious scarlet blazes. The only thing really keeping her from exploding was the comforting arm her brother had wrapped around her waist and wave of soothing blue feelings he kept sending her way.

“Pietro Maximoff!” The old woman in the green velvet robe called loudly. Wanda was so nervous she had already forgotten the lady’s name.

 _Good luck_ , she thought to her twin as he left her side to quickly dash up the dais. The tattered brown hat barely touched the crown of his head before declaring, “Gryffindor!” Wanda clapped furiously even though she had no idea if that was something worth clapping for. Her brother was grinning ear-to-ear and that’s all that mattered. However, her sympathetic joy was short lived when the woman called her name next. Hundreds of eyes looked to her as she hesitantly made her way to the stool, keeping her eyes down and her hands clenched tight, praying to God no one could see the manifestations of her powers. She could feel the magic oozing out of the hat, reaching for her mind before she even took a seat, and she wished more than anything that she could hold Pietro’s hand. There was no hiding anything from that dusty old thing; she could hear it musing about her from three steps away.

 _You are very special, aren’t you, Wanda?_ it nearly hummed when she finally sat down.

 _Please,_ she begged and closed her eyes. _Just put me with my brother, I don’t care about anything else._

The hat seethed with disagreement.

_My dear, Gryffindor is the last house I would choose for you. Ravenclaw or Slytherin would open great doors for-_

_I don’t care!_ she nearly screamed in her head, feeling the crimson energy writhe up and down her arms. A couple kids in the front row gasped loudly and started whispering amongst each other. _Put me with my brother!_

The hat paused and stayed silent for several moments. For a second, Wanda was terrified that she had somehow damaged it.

_You have known great pain and great fear in your life, Wanda Maximoff, and it has shaped you. You have the self-preservation and the fraternity of a Slytherin, the wisdom and individuality of a Ravenclaw, and the dedication and loyalty of a Hufflepuff. But your heart is also tied to his, and if that is what you truly want-_

“Gryffindor!”

_Thank you._

She let out one of the deepest sighs of relief in her life and immediately sprinted down the stairs to Pietro, who caught her in a tight embrace. She gave all of her attention to his ecstatic smile, and did her best to block out the horrified and curious stares of those who has witnessed her accidental display.

“Look at this food! I want to eat it all and get big as a house,” Pietro said enthusiastically in his broken English.

Wanda only nodded and smiled. She knew her English was better than his, but was still too terrified to say any more than she had to. The other kids were already either laughing at her or scared of her; the last thing she needed was to give them something else to jeer about. She and Pietro were just about to settle down in their seats at the Gryffindor table when two older boys blocked their way, one with dark hair wearing a blue tie, the other blond wearing a red tie.

“That was quite the show up there, Scarlet,” the slim brunette commented nonchalantly. “Potter didn’t even show that kind of power his first year. Impressive stuff you got going on, kid.”

“Don’t be rudely blunt, Tony,” the other young man scolded and extended a hand to the twins. “Wanda and Pietro, right? I’m Steve Rogers, head boy of Gryffindor, and this clown is Tony Stark. We’re both 5th years. Would you like to come sit with us?”

The twins exchanged glances.

_We should keep to ourselves, Pietro. We don’t know what it’s like here._

_Relax, Wanda. We have nothing to hide in this place. Wouldn’t it be amazing if we could finally have friends?_

“Absolutely!” he said enthusiastically before his sister had time to respond.

“I like your spunk, kiddo,” Tony smirked, and Wanda could not tell if he was being sincere or sardonic. She could easily probe his mind to find out, but the last thing she wanted was to ruin something for Pietro.

The two boys led them to the back of a table over on the Hufflepuff side where five other kids were sitting, all wearing different colored ties and robes. One of them waved at Steve and the others quickly turned their attention to follow suit. Wanda felt uncomfortable to once more be under the weight of judging eyes, but not of them seemed afraid of her, simply… intrigued or… indifferent.

“Guys, this is Wanda and Pietro, some new Gryffindors,” Steve announced, then pointed to each of the other kids in turn. “Over on the edge is Bruce Banner, he’s top of his class in Ravenclaw. Clint Barton is a keeper for the Hufflepuff quidditch team, and Thor Odinson is a beater for Gryffindor. Loki is president of the astronomy club, and Natasha… do you actually do anything Nat?”

The redheaded girl sitting next to the Hufflepuff stuffing his face flashed a coy buy sinister grin.

“Nothing you need to know about, Rogers,” she said playfully before turning her attention to Wanda and Pietro. “Have a seat, kids, we don’t bite. Take a plate if Hawkeye hasn’t eaten everything by then.”

“Get off my case, Tasha, I’m starving! By the way, nice light show, Wanda. I’ve never heard of having someone so young having that much magical ability. You’ve got a lot of potential; make sure it doesn’t go to waste.”

“He’s right,” Banner chimed in. “You have an incredible gift.”

Pietro was already digging in, but Wanda could only gape. These people, these children, were not afraid of her power. They welcomed it. They _embraced_ it in a way only her brother ever had. All their lives, she and her brother had been ostracized or hunted for their abilities, but Pietro was right. They had nothing to hide in this place.

“Ugh, Dumbledore still hasn’t installed wifi in the great hall,” Tony groaned, fiddling with a cellphone. “I can’t wait to get out of this ancient black hole and back to civilized technology.”

“Give it a break, Tony,” Steve laughed. “Actually talk and have fun and enjoy a meal like a regular human being.”

Tony responded with a long, frustrated growl and the group laughed. Pietro laughed. Wanda laughed. While the rest of the students around her chatted and ate, she simply leaned back, closed her eyes, and opened her mind to the flow of emotions around her. The honest warmth and soft absence of animosity wrapped around her like a well-loved quilt and for the first time in a long time, she felt safe and she felt home. They were finally in a place where she and her brother could finally, for the first time, feel wanted. As if Steve could sense everything she was feeling, he clasped a steady hand on her shoulder.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Wanda." 


	6. MI-6 Family Values

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What everyone really needs in their life is a fic of M, Tanner, Moneypenny and Q dealing with the clusterfuck they are left with post-spectre, and because it is really only them left they can trust they end up BFFs (MI6 SQUAD GOLD/FAMILY FEELS ANYONE?) Eventually because Bond is Bond he ends up back at MI6 to find that the four of them are all really close and varying shades of Pissed Off at him. Eventual 00q would be wonderful :)

“So he took the Aston Martin?”

“Without so much as a please or thank you.”

Eve pulled up a chair from R’s long empty work bench and put it on the opposite side of Q’s desk. He had been cooped up in his damp little basement since sunrise and of course insisted on being the last person in Q-Branch to leave. This was the fourth consecutive 17 hours shift he had volunteered for since Bond walked away from the bridge with Dr. Swann, and it didn’t take a Double 0 to figure out why. It was actually R who texted her that James had come back for the car (without checking in with anyone else at MI-6 of course who fought tooth and nail for him, of course), and warned her that the Quartermaster was yet again planning to close for the night. Every other night this week she had checked on him, the young man had been hard at work typing at the speed of light or tinkering with some new weapons, but tonight the poor kid just sat in his chair with his arms crossed, staring at a completely black computer screen. Eve sighed.

“Get your coat, Q, we’re going out,” she ordered, reaching across the desk to push his laptop screen down.

He blinked quizzically at her several times over the top rims of his specs.

“I’m not really in the mood.”

She rolled her eyes and leaned even further over the desk so she could grab his tie and pull him out of his chair.

“Yes you are, mate, and I already called Tanner and Mallory. They’re meeting us at a pub down the road.”

“Eve,” he practically whined as she physically pulled him up and forced him to put on his heavy green coat. “I’m not fit to be out in public and you know it.”

Though he squirmed like a child, she stared him down until he had no choice but to meet her commanding gaze.

“That’s exactly the point. You’re a mess, and you need a drink. Come on, I’ll pay for a cab.”

Q finally let out an exasperated groan and followed her back up to the London streets. She guessed that at this point his veins were more caffeine than blood and that there were prisoners with lifetime sentences whose skin got more sun that his. The least she could do was get some food and a stiff drink into him. Hell, they all needed stiff drinks after the last few weeks, which was precisely why she talked Tanner into “kidnapping” M for the evening as well. Between dealing with the aftermath of C’s death, deconstructing the Nine Eye’s project, reinstating the Double 0 program, and cleaning up Bond’s mess in general, it was Eve’s full intention to get everyone as shitfaced drunk as possible.

***

“I mean, who the hell does he think he is?!” Mallory growled, kicking back what had to be his fourth shot of absinthe and Crown in the last hour alone. “Waltzing in and out of MI-6 like he runs the whole bloody kingdom?! You know what? I should have him arrested for treason! I’ll do it, I swear to bloody God, I will!”

“You should, you definitely should,” Tanner joined in. “Did you know that I missed Kathy’s birthday because I was here helping to clean up that Mexico disaster? She nearly divorced me after that.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Q slurred, barely audible from where his forehead was pressed flat against the table. “I have bent over backwards for that man since the day you pricks assigned him to me. I put my career and my life on the line for him, but instead of even giving me a second thought, he rides off into the sunset with some damsel in distress in the car that I put back together for him! Where’s my happy ending, hm? I love him more than that blonde doctor ever will, but it will be a cold day in hell before he ever realizes it.”

Eve suspected that if M and Tanner had been on the more sober side, Q’s confession might have shocked them, but instead they simply nodded and grunted in sympathetic agreement. Eve smiled and took the last sip of what was only her second glass of wine. The pub owner owed her a favor from back at uni, so he was more than willing to keep it open a few hours passed last call, and this was exactly what her emotionally battered boys needed. Yes, she probably worked her ass off more than the three of them put together, but she also knew how let go and unwind at the end of the day; they didn’t. Since she was a child, people had told her that there wasn’t a mothering bone in her body, but there was something distinctly rewarding and distinctly maternal about finally seeing her friends let out some of their stress. Then she choked on the wine.

Her friends. Jesus Christ, Mallory, Tanner, and Q were her friends.

“You boys need a good night’s sleep,” she finally chimed, interrupting what had descended into a cacophony of overlapping bitching about Bond. “I have a feeling you’ll need it if you want to wake up without a splitting headache, and even that’s pushing the limits.”

Though all three of them groaned in protest, she succeeded in herding them all up and toward the door. However, even in their drunken states, M still noticed that she left her coat at the table.

“Aren’t you going home too?” he asked sincerely.

She smiled but shook her head.

“No, I’m going to stay a little while longer.”

Though he tried to utter something about her needing her rest as well, she ushered him out the exit with his Quartermaster and his Chief of Staff. When she checked that they had each caught cabs toward their flats, Eve walked back over to their table and collapsed into the chair with a sigh. Almost her entire life had been fueled by spite. She was motivated to succeed where people said she would fail just so she could prove them wrong. For years, nothing but competition and achievement fed her passion; trust, comradery, those where just things that got in the way. But she realized that her life had not been that way for quite some time now. Maybe it started when she finally admitted to herself that she wasn’t suited for fieldwork, but more and more she wondered if the real bonds she had finally developed with the people around her was grounded in the mutual betrayal they shared. Though it was sort of twisted, perhaps she did owe these newfound attachments to 007, even if it was because of his perpetual status as MI-6’s biggest twat.

She chuckled to herself and propped her feet up on the table, signaling to Owen at the bar to bring her one more glass of wine.

***

“R, what time is it?” M asked, staring the Q-branch minion down with a glare that could melt iron.

“7:15, sir,” the mousey woman squeaked nervously.

“And what rule is in effect at 7:15?”

Eve could see R sweating around her collar and had to bite back a grin. The minions stayed down in the basement for good reason, and it really was unfair for M to be so hard on the poor thing.

“Fr-from 7:00 am to 7:30 am, M, Q, Mr. Tanner, and Ms. Moneypenny are not-not to be disturbed and meeting room 241 is not to be entered un-unless an international emergency arises,” she finally managed to stutter out. “But sir, I think you might-might-might want to make an exception.”

Mallory cocked an eyebrow, but Q threw him a warning glance to let him know to go easy on her. It was probably Q who enjoyed their specially earmarked morning breakfast “meetings” the most, and was the most keen on keeping them private, but at the same time he was such a benevolent dictator to his employees.

“What is it, R?” the Quartermaster asked kindly.

“007 is back. He was sp-spotted in the lobby a few moments ago and should be here any-any second now.”

Tanner suddenly started choking on his doughnut and Eve nearly dropped her cup of coffee. She spotted M’s jaw clench up tighter than a newly wound clock, but Q was the one she worried about. The kid’s face went as white as a sheet and his breathing became shorter and shorter. He was trained enough to keep his cues subtle, but by field operative standards he was an open book, and a pang of sympathy ran through her. Practically everyone at 6 wanted to shag Bond, that was no secret, but she knew that with Q it was more than that. He had held out his heart to James, only to have it crushed under the wheels of that Aston Martin. They barely had time to recollect their composure before 007 came striding in like he had never left.

Like he had never abandoned them.

“You have a lot of nerve showing up here,” M snarled before James even had time to offer a greeting, his hands clenched into fists.

“You know I could never stay away,” the agent replied coyly with enough snark to make even Eve snap.

_How dare you…_

“What happened, did you get bored of Dr. Swann?” Q quipped with no attempt to mask his contempt.

Everyone’s heads snapped around to stare, jaws all slack. Q was usually dry, witty, warm, or occasionally authoritarian. Even when a mission went horribly wrong or one of his minions royally screwed up in a way that threatened the whole of British security, he retained a professional and comforting reserve. Eve had never heard something so directly harsh or accusing come out of his mouth, but she was more than a little proud of him. The kid was finally standing up to Bond’s bullshit.

“She decided to go back to work in Austria,” James stated, he himself more taken aback than Eve had ever seen him.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t have you thrown out immediately,” M growled, but Q was already on a track.

“You abandoned us, James!” he burst, completely ignoring Mallory. “The four of us have been working day and night for weeks to put MI-6 back together after the mess you made and you abandoned us! We risked everything for you, and you took off without a word except to come back for your bloody car! After everything we went through, did you ever once stop to think about us? To think about _me?!_ I-“

He finally stopped himself, but Eve was still holding her breath. Why didn’t he just say it already? He put a hand down on the table to steady himself and she gently brushed her hand against the side of his leg in a silent show of solidarity. It looked like any second now he was either going to scream or punch Bond in the nose. The older man took a few steps forward.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” Q said quietly. “We aren’t anything to you, not really. Just things that you let into your life when you need them and throw away when you don’t. Why did you even come back?”

They locked eyes and it was as if everyone else in the room disappeared. Eve’s own indignation suddenly melted away and even though she wanted to knock out James’ perfect teeth, she most of all wanted Q, _her friend Q,_ to get his closure. She swapped careful glances with M and Tanner, who seemed equally resolved to keep their mouths shut and watch how this whole scene unfolded.

“I came back for you,” James stated, and rested his hand on the young man’s jacket lapel so smoothly and so swiftly that Eve almost didn’t catch it happening. “I realized it wasn’t Madeleine who I needed to be happy.”

Tanner made a noise that didn’t even sound human, which earned him two harsh glares from Eve and M, but James and Q didn’t seem to care. Q just let out a choking laugh, as if he was trying to hold back tears of joy (and she knew for a fact he would rather swallow nails that cry in front of Bond…). She was elated that Q might finally get his well-deserved happy ending, and gave them a few more minutes of private silence to gaze lovingly into each other’s eyes, but then she couldn’t help herself.

“Get a room, you two,” she finally groaned sardonically. “And James, if you even think about pulling another stunt like that on us again, this time I won’t miss.”

The Double 0 slipped an arm around Q’s waist and flashed her a ridiculous grin.

“I’m counting on it, Eve.”

She rolled her eyes and took a long sip of coffee as the two men practically bolted out of the room. Things were going to get a lot more interesting in their little family from here on out.

“Should I make a call to HR?” Tanner asked.

“Don’t bother,” M scoffed. “We’ll just leave that to R when she finds them fucking on her desk.”

Eve laughed so hard that her scalding hot coffee came right out her nose and all over her white blouse. 


	7. Group Chat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Bucky sexting nat while she's in a briefing?"   
> A SFW response to this prompt in which Bucky tries sexting for the first time and it goes horribly wrong in more ways than one.

“Wait, that’s an actual thing? People _actually_ do that?” Bucky asked with genuine curiosity and excitement in his voice, leaning in closer to the computer screen.

“Well, yes,” Steve answered hesitantly. “Sharon and I tried it once while we were both on separate missions for a few weeks, but I really think it’s a bad idea in the current situation.”

“Pal, you’ve been a bluenose since we were teenagers. You might know a lot more about the 21st century than I do, but I’m still more of an expert on these things than you are,” he retorted patronizingly but added an endearing grin.

Steve groaned.

“But Bucky, she’s at work!”

Despite the downright pleading in his friend’s voice, Bucky shrugged off his concern and snatched his own cell phone off the coffee table. _Oh, Steve,_ he thought to himself as he briskly walked out of the living room and around the hall to his bedroom. _You severely underestimate us._

* * *

Natasha stared down at her phone in disbelief and it took every ounce of spy training in her repertoire to keep a straight face when all she wanted to do was break down laughing. A very important part of being… well, _her,_ was having a finely honed and inimitable grasp on all forms of seduction. Though most of what she learned was from professional escorts the Red Room hired to educate all their women in the art of sensual allure, she had picked up many new techniques on her own as the times changed. Needless to say, sexting had become an important part of honeypot-based assassination. Sometimes it was absolutely necessary to lure a target into a hotel room without security cameras, and sometimes she was just too lazy to get dressed up and why the hell would she when a cellphone with a half decent camera would have the same effect without her having to get out of her pajamas? Needless to say, she felt she had mastered the art. Bucky, however, was absolutely _terrible_.

A part of her wanted to text him, “honey, please stop. You’re embarrassing yourself and I promise we can have the night of your life when I get home,” but at the same time, as much as she loved Maria Hill, her debriefings were just so damn boring and at least this was holding her attention. The interim director of new SHIELD insisted that Natasha put in more hours attending debriefings for green field agents so they could “learn from the best,” but she knew it was only to keep a closer eye on her. Rebuilding SHIELD had not been easy, and Natasha and the rest of the Avengers shared a lot of blame in that. The least she could do was seem amenable for the time being. _Seem_ being the operative word as the stream of vulgar and yet extremely cheesy texts continued to flash through her phone from Bucky. God, was he 14?

Even after the debriefing was over, the occasional text continued to find their way into her phone. She chuckled. Oh dear, he had resorted to pictures. When he finally sent a non-sexual text asking her why she wasn’t responding, she texted back “Keep going. I’m enjoying this.” She left out the comedy factor of her amusement. She could kill a man without a second thought, but didn’t have the heart to tell her boyfriend that he was failing horribly at inducing any arousal whatsoever. She would reward his efforts, though.

“You seemed to be thoroughly engaged in my debriefing,” Maria said sarcastically, coming up behind Natasha from down the hall. “You’re a good friend and an amazing spy, but I would appreciate if you limited your texting to SHIELD or Avengers correspondence during meetings.”

“Trust me, Maria, it was definitely important Avengers business,” Natasha answered dutifully with a completely straight face.

“Sure it was,” Maria scoffed back venomously, but Natasha could see her smiling as she walked away.

* * *

“At what point do we inform him that he accidently sent those messages through the Avengers group text?” Sam asked, taking a sip of his beer.

Steve shrugged.

“Either Natasha will break it to him gently, or he’ll figure it out on his own when he checks in for group training on Monday.”


End file.
